


Simul Operantes

by LadyRazorsharp



Category: Deryni Chronicles - Katherine Kurtz, Thunderbirds
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Gen, Mages, Middle Ages, SCRYING, Swords & Sorcery, Telepathy, burning the candle at both ends, more of an homage, sort of a crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 04:43:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20186470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRazorsharp/pseuds/LadyRazorsharp
Summary: Originally written for a short story contest, these are the Tracys if you look closely...Five princes pull together to defend their kingdom against a mysterious foe.





	Simul Operantes

“Are you  _ trying _ to kill yourself, Apollo? Because it looks like you’re succeeding.”

The slim, ocher-clad young man slumped in his chair, his copper hair hanging in sweaty clumps around his pale, angular face. The turquoise eyes burned feverishly, but the lips curved into a tired smile.

“I’m  _ fine, _ Avian.” He rubbed his eyes with a shaking hand, and Avian frowned at how thin the hand was, the freckles standing out in stark contrast to the alabaster skin. “I’ve Worked at higher levels than this.”

“Yes, but not for this long.” Avian sighed, crossing his arms over his broad chest, a disapproving column of cloudy grey that matched the silver beginning to thread his dark hair. He regarded his next-youngest brother with a piercing sapphire gaze, but those who knew him well would have seen the worry behind the knotted jaw. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“You sound like Verdan. I nearly fainted on him this morning.”

“What?” Avian dropped his arms, coming to attention. “That jackass, I saw him at breakfast. Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Because he  _ knows _ you, Grey.” Apollo rolled his head along the back of the chair so he could bring Avian into view. “There’s no help for it; we  _ must  _ know what the Golden One is planning.”

Avian’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “And  _ did  _ you learn anything else last night?”

Apollo didn’t answer, merely closed his eyes and sat limply in his chair.

“That’s what I thought.” With a glance at the amber sphere in the center of the table, Avian pulled up a chair and sat. He knew if he touched the stone, it would still be warm from Apollo’s all-night conjuring. “Sunny, we  _ need  _ you.” He reached out and curled his calloused palm around the clammy digits. “Think of Cen. He’d be lost without you.” He squeezed Apollo’s hand, saying without words:  _ I’d be lost without you, too. _

“Ah, yes, the ‘sad little brother’ card.” Apollo yawned. “All right, you win. I’m butting my head against a wall, anyway. I think the Golden One is getting wise to my tricks; he’s almost caught me once or twice.”

Avian’s eyes went wide. “ _ No! _ You can’t let him find us! See, you’re so worn out that--” He shut his mouth, lest he say something he didn’t mean.

The copper-haired mage eyed him, unspeaking. He didn’t  _ have _ to say anything, Avian mused; the hurt in those turquoise irises was plain for anyone--much less a beloved brother--to see. He sighed and started again. 

“You are the most competent Master I know.  _ Jesu  _ forgive me if I ever made you think otherwise.” He reached out and pushed the hair back from his brother’s face, revealing high cheekbones that were too sharp for Avian’s liking. “You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you were so tired or ill that the Golden One traced you back to us.”

Apollo held his brother’s gaze for a long moment, and then dropped his eyes to where his hands rested in his lap. “I’m not strong like you and Verdan, or clever like Fathom and Cen.  _ This _ is what  _ Jesu _ granted me to do, and I’m going to do it.” He turned his left hand palm up, conjuring a golden sphere of light the size of the crystal on the table, then sent it floating toward Avian with a flick of his bony wrist. When it was above Avian’s head, Apollo snapped his fingers, and the bubble burst into a shower of golden dust that settled atop the dark hair.

The sparkles looked like a crown—like their  _ father’s  _ crown, the one that should even now be on Avian’s head, but was instead perched upon the brow of Emas the usurper, known as the Golden One. 

The knowledge passed between them in the span of a few heartbeats, and Avian bowed his head as the sparkles began to fade. “Cen can do some of that. Who’d teach him if something happened to you?”

Apollo gave a snort, letting Avian know he was onto his big brother’s game. “Centauri has the potential to be a Grand Master, but I don’t presume he’ll get there from anything _ I  _ have to teach him,” he scoffed. “However, I may have a thing or two to pass on before this body wears out, and I shouldn’t hasten it by neglecting myself.” He yawned again and got to his feet, moving like a man three times his twenty-two summers. “You and I know that if we are to stop the Golden One, I must continue.” He sighed. “Don’t be angry with me, but...I’ve had to break the Seal that Father put on Mother’s library. I needed to consult her grimoires.”

Avian stiffened. Seals were some of the most powerful Works known, and their mother had been one of the greatest Mavens. “Sunny—“

“I _had_ to, Grey. As I said, the Golden One is very clever.” Apollo leaned on the table and ran a hand over his face, his lips moving in a whispered phrase. Avian’s own lips thinned; he was no Master, but he knew Apollo was using a charm to stave off fatigue. By the looks of him, Apollo had used the charm too often of late. _“Sanctus,_ I wish Father was here.”

Avian could only agree silently. Theirs had been a happy childhood, the five princes adored by their parents and the people alike. Then, eight summers ago, Emas had conquered the East with his talents as a Grand Master, and turned his piercing yellow eyes toward their father’s kingdom. When Tresor Rex had gone out to meet him in battle, Emes had unleashed a violent storm that swept up everything in its path. When the storm cleared, Tresor was gone, leaving his young sons behind to carry on in his stead.

Emas drew the line at slaughtering children, considering it beneath him to waste his prowess on weaker foes. He marched into the city, claimed the crown, and then went back to his stronghold to await the day when he would wipe out the line of Tresor and ascend to the throne.

He would not, Avian swore, as long as there was breath in the body of a Tresor prince.

Trouble had begun to brew as the princes approached their majority, with news of raids becoming all too common in the dispatches from the outskirts of the kingdom. Hadn’t Bayan, Verdan’s ladylove, brought him such a dispatch the night before? The girl, her tawny face grey with fatigue and her peacock-green cloak and worn black leathers bearing the stains of travel, had stumbled into Avian’s chambers barely five minutes after she had dismounted in the courtyard. He’d read the grim news in her face, and then sent her to find rest in Verdan’s arms.

“I saw Bayan last evening,” Avian said, finally breaking the silence. “Your findings are confirmed: The Golden One intends to wear us down with border skirmishes until he can make inroads farther North.”

Apollo sighed. “You see? That’s why I have to continue.” He shuffled over to where a flagon of wine and a plate of fruit, bread, and cheese rested on the sideboard. He poured the wine, spilling some over the side of the cup, then set the pitcher aside and caught up the cup with both hands to bring it to his lips. When it was gone, he refilled the cup with water and plucked a few grapes from the platter.

“Here.” Avian pushed his brother aside. Pulling the jeweled dagger from his belt, he sliced off a large piece of bread and a hunk of cheese. He slit the bread, stuffed the cheese into it, and handed both to Apollo before spearing one of the plump apples. While his brother was distracted, he grabbed the cup, pushed open the amber-paned window, and tossed the water out before refilling the cup with wine. “Now,” he said, “sit your skinny arse in that seat and put this down your gullet, or I’ll do it for you.”

Apollo blinked, but he did as he was told, meekly nibbling at his impromptu meal. Avian sat in the chair at his brother’s right hand and busied himself with slicing the apple. When he was done, he pushed the pile of fruit between them and chose a slice for himself.

_ I do not wish for them to carve your effigy as they did Father and Mother’s, _ he wanted to say to Apollo. _ I do not want to stand at your tomb and listen to Cen weep for you. _

“Tell me, what does Lady Rheda say when you bed her of late?” Avian commented instead, smirking when Apollo choked on a mouthful. “Wouldn’t she rather have a man made of flesh, instead of bones and sinew?”

His brother took a gulp of wine and slammed the cup back on the table.  _ “Peasant,” _ he spat. 

“Maybe I should introduce myself,” Avian mused, studying his reflection in the polished blade of his dagger. “She’d probably appreciate someone with some meat on them.”

Apollo gave him a withering look. “She hasn’t complained--not that we’ve had much time to ourselves.” He lowered his gaze to the half-eaten bread. “I’m meeting her tonight, though; Verdan said he would fetch her. She’s being watched, you know.”

“Yes.” Avian put his dagger away. “We have to believe we’ll be free of him one day, and that the people we love will no longer be at risk just by association.”

They sat silent for a moment, each lost in dreams of that day—until the door shook under a torrent of bangs. Before Apollo could open his mouth, the door burst open to reveal a short, wiry young man with an unruly mop of honey-blond hair, dressed from head to foot in ocean-blue. The cloak thrown over his shoulders was sunlight-yellow, and his smile was just as bright. 

“What’re y’doing in here, Sunny?” he cried. “Come outside and watch Bayan throw Verdy around the yard.” He grabbed an apple, burnishing it on his tunic before taking a noisy bite. “Better stir up some extra healing salve,” he said, with a suggestive flick of his eyebrows. “They’ll need it to put all over each other’s--”

Apollo threw a grape at his second-to-youngest brother. “I know it’s hard, dear Fathom, but can you at least  _ pretend _ to have some class?”

“Nah,” Fathom said around a bite of apple. “Never have before, why start now?”

“Surely you can afford a  _ little _ class, for your fiancee’s sake?” Avian ventured with a grin.

“Don’t need to,” Fathom retorted. “Tess loves me just the way I am.”

“Your thinking is  _ terribly _ flawed,” Apollo said dryly, “but I can’t argue with what  _ Jesu _ sets in motion.” 

Despite Apollo’s teasing, it had been Avian’s pleasure to receive Fathom and Lady Tessa Craighe at a private dinner in his chambers and hear of their intentions. The banns had been read the previous winter, but with the current trouble, he wondered if they would be given the chance to wed.

Such musings brought him back to the main problem: Apollo, wearing himself thin by scrying day and night for any inkling of the Golden One’s next move. Could they afford to give Apollo a time to rest? Could they afford  _ not _ to? He studied his brothers, torn.

There were voices out in the hallway, and they turned as one to see hulking, dark-haired Verdan, still in his black and green leathers, limp through the door. Crimson-clad Centauri followed on his heels, chattering like a towheaded magpie.

_ “She beat you, _ Verdy,” Cen crowed. “She grabbed your arm, did that funny twist thing that she does, and down you went like a sack of old potatoes!”

Verdan rolled his eyes; like Fathom’s, they were the color of fine brandy, where Centauri’s were summer-sky blue. “She’s better than I, no question about it.” He poured himself a cup of wine and walked over to the table to settle into a chair, wincing when his backside hit the seat. “What have you two been talking about all morning?”

“The Golden One,” Avian said, all of the cheer fleeing the room at the name. “There must be another way to discover what he’s planning.”

Centauri was instantly at his elder brother’s side. “ _ Jesu, _ Sunny, you look terrible. Were you up all night again?”

Apollo glared at Avian as if to say:  _ See what you’ve done? _ “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“You should have had me Work with you,” Cen pouted. “Why didn’t you?”

Avian raised an eyebrow. “Cen’s been Working with you?”

Apollo turned his glare on his youngest brother, who gulped, then looked back at Avian. “Only for simple charms. Nothing too strenuous, I promise.”

Avian glanced at his other two brothers, gauging their reaction to this news. Verdan, a sensitive soul despite his burly exterior, did not look pleased at this revelation. Fathom, who had always been protective of his younger brother, looked ready to box Apollo’s ears. 

_ If only we could work together somehow _ , Avian mused.  _ We could  _ t _ ake some of the burden, lessen some of the danger-- _

“Sunny,” he breathed. “What would you say to Working with all of us?”

A line appeared between Fathom’s brows. “What are you talking about?”

“I won’t force any of you,” Avian continued, “but _ think _ about it. Apollo has been Working on his strength alone. What if there were some way we could add our strength to his?”

Apollo blinked in astonishment. “There is, but—you would  _ do  _ that?”

Verdan, who had been watching his brothers silently, answered from behind his cup. “What would you need us to do?”

“Very little, actually,” Apollo said, a hint of normal color creeping back into his cheeks. “If you are willing, go to your chambers and rest until sundown. Meet me here for supper, and then we’ll start the Work after Vespers.”

“I will inform Lady Rheda,” Verdan said, putting his cup aside. “When should she expect you?”

Apollo shot him a grateful smile. “Tell her if she will be pleased to postpone our meeting for tonight, it will be all the sweeter tomorrow.”

Verdan rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “I’ll find words suitable for the occasion.”

“How about a bawdy limerick?” Fathom put in. “I’ll even help you write it!”

In answer, Verdan smacked the back of Fathom’s head. “All right. Let’s get some sleep before supper.” He hauled himself to his feet with a groan and headed out the door. “I’ll see you all at sundown.”

“At least you’ll sleep,” Fathom called after him, following close behind. “ _ Jesu _ knows you’re too sore to bed Bayan after she kicked you black and blue!”

_ “Pleasant dreams,  _ Fathom,” Avian called after him. He stood in the doorway to make certain Fathom kept moving toward his quarters, then went back into Apollo’s room to find Centauri hovering beside the redhead.

“Can I stay with Sunny? I wanna make sure he rests, too.”

Avian glanced at Apollo, who was puttering among his shelves. “Do you mind if Cen stays?”

“Fine with me.” Apollo reached for a scroll, but stopped short as Centauri blocked his arm.

“Your bed’s _ that  _ way.” Cen pointed in the direction of the sleeping chamber. He grinned and turned Apollo toward the door. “Rest well, Grey.”

Heading toward his own chambers, Avian smiled. When they were children, it had been common for Cen to crawl into Apollo’s bed for comfort. Now nearly grown, Cen had appointed himself Apollo’s protector.

The sun was touching the horizon when the five brothers gathered once more in Apollo’s chamber. A light supper was brought, the wine well watered so as not to cloud their minds. After they dined and the meal had been cleared away, Apollo took his place at the head of the table.

“Ready?” he asked, glancing at each of his brothers in turn. Each one nodded, and he gave them all a satisfied smile. “Join hands. Grey, you and Cen put your hands on my arms.” He reached out to wrap his hands around the amber. “Close your eyes and breathe easily.” He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.  _ “Lux aeternum,” _ he murmured.  _ “Lux perpetua.” _

Avian dared to open his eyes to slits, watching in awe as the amber sphere began to glow. Verdan groaned softly, and Fathom gasped. Centauri chanted under his breath, adding a low hum of noise to the silent room.

Time blurred, and Avian wasn’t certain if he was awake or asleep. Centauri’s chanting grew until it vibrated along his bones, and he let himself drift. 

A gentle touch on his cheek brought him back to awareness, and he stirred with a low groan. “Sun? What hap-”

“Shh, don’t wake them.”

Avian rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly, muscles protesting from slumping awkwardly in his chair. To his right, Fathom slept with his head pillowed on his arms atop the table, Verdan sprawled and rumbling with snores between them. Apollo’s left arm was curled around a boneless, drooling Centauri, who didn’t stir as his brother carded long fingers through his white-blond hair.

“Well?” Avian asked around a yawn. “How did it go?”

Apollo joined him in the yawn, looking tired but satisfied, with none of the deadly exhaustion of before. “I’ll tell you everything later, but--” He held Avian’s eyes, turquoise to sapphire. “We’re going to defeat him, Grey. He can’t hide from us now.” 

-End-


End file.
